A Handsome Man Saved Me From The Monsters
by Smaradgus
Summary: Draco lives as a hermit in the woods, missing no-one, until Harry literally and quite violently stumbles into his life. Now Draco must decide if he's ready to give up everything in his own life to save another's. HPDM-preslash.
1. Terrors of the Night

A Handsome Man Saved Me From The Monsters

**Warnings**: Violence, Bloody Scenes, sort of Pre-Slash (HPDM), Cursing

**A/N:** This is a story that does not dwell into the past. There will be no details about how Voldemort was defeated or so on. It's just about the present day, about how Harry the Auror and Draco the Hermit finally meet again. I just have a thing for stories with those two boys confined in a small place together.

This has three chapters in total and all of them are complete and beta'd, so I shall post them quite soon.

Oh, and the title from the story comes from the TV-show Angel. "A handsome man saved me from the monsters" was the first thing a character called Fred said to the vampire Angel. Love the show to bits and pieces.

Beta'd by Ms. Camille aka purplerawr. Thank you again for being so fast and cheering!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Terrors of the Woods **

"Thomas, where _are_ you?"

Harry swore under his breath, stumbling over a set of thick, gnarled roots that lay in the middle of the moss and ferns. The whole forest was a bloody jungle, full of impenetrable shrubbery and clusters of trees, and Harry hated it already – it was impossible to see clearly in the dark, even with a subtle _Lumos_. His robes looked like a wild cat had attacked him and there were stinging scratches on his face, not to mention his poor boots that had gradually been filled with so much mud and water Harry could hear the nasty squashing every time he moved.

And now his partner had gone missing. A few hours back, Thomas had caught whiff of a feral werewolf gathering and dragged them both out to the woods to check the situation, and now the newly trained Auror was traipsing somewhere alone, probably too excited to wait for the careful assessment Harry preferred.

_Even _I _wasn't that reckless when I first started._ True, Harry had finished his Auror training merely two years before Thomas, but he was certain _his_ first partner didn't have to fear that he would lose him, Harry, in the woods.

Harry's robe got caught in a viciously thorny bush and he cursed again, impatiently wriggling himself free. _I'm going to strangle that rookie once I see him. He's too enthusiastic for his own good. _

"Thomas! Get your arse back here this instant!"

When the rustling of leaves was his only answer, Harry let out an annoyed huff of breath and prepared to do a locating spell to find his juvenile partner. A sharp howl nearby, however, made him halt.

"_Nox_," he quickly whispered and darkness fell around him like someone had thrown a blanket over his eyes. Holding his breath, crouched on the ground, Harry listened. The first trickle of uneasiness and fear for Thomas' safety made his spine tingle as the second howl pierced the otherwise deathly silent air.

Harry could have recognized the sound a werewolf from miles away.

_Shite. Where _is_ that boy? We need to get out of the forest or at least get some reinforcements. _

Quietly murmuring the spell under his breath, Harry started to move as stealthily as he could, following the persistent tug of the locating spell. Yet another howl, savage and rough, rang out and Harry clutched his wand tighter in his hand, painfully aware of the werewolves' better sense of smell, hearing and sight even in the darkness and even in their human form.

The tug got more relentless, indicating that Thomas would be somewhere very near. "Thomas?" Harry murmured and warily poked his way through an exceptionally thick shrub. "Thomas, are you -"

The coppery scent of blood that attacked his nose made him freeze to the spot. Slowly, Harry looked down and found his partner on the ground, barely illuminated by the weak light of the stars. The younger Auror was sprawled across a plush collection of ferns and his head was in a wrong angle, bent to the side. Blood dripped from a gash near his hairline, the red liquid falling into his lifeless eyes. There was no question about whether he was dead or not.

Harry fought the urge to throw up. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked away for a second, trying to get his fluttering feelings under the rein. Hot flush of guilt and dismay made him ball his hands into fists – he was Thomas' senior partner, he should have looked after him better. He should have never left him alone at _all_.

Harry reached a hand and closed Thomas' eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. The air, however, was not as fresh as he could've hoped for; it was heavy and nauseating, clinging to his tongue like a thick layer of grime.

_Oh, Merlin._

A new round of howling made him snap back to focus. He crouched protectively over the body of his partner, squinting in the darkness. It was obvious something strong had killed Thomas – a werewolf, most probably.

_I need to get us out of here._

There was a vacuum of certain kind of magic in the forest that prevented Disapparating – they had arrived by brooms that were too far away now-, so Harry started patting his pockets to find the emergency Portkey. His fingers curled around the silver brooch he found and he grabbed Thomas' limp arm with his other hand, starting to push out his magic to activate the Portkey -

A snap of a twig was the only warning Harry received before something large and brutal slammed into him like a huge bag of bricks. He was sent careening straight into the nearest tree and the fierce impact knocked the very breath out of him while sharp spasms of blinding pain flooded his head and back that had been smacked against the unyielding trunk. But even in his half-conscious state, Harry knew he was in grave danger and stumbled to his feet, dazed and disoriented to the point of nearly keeling over again. By some miracle, his wand was still in his hand and, rather shakily, he aimed it at the shadowy figure growling at him.

"_Diffindo_!" he weakly cried out and the figure, a large wolfish man, fell back with a startled bark, vanishing into the undergrowth as if the moss had swallowed him whole. Harry blinked rapidly, staggering on his feet as he strained to regain his senses and track down the rapid, wispy movements that made the bushes around him crackle and shake. Feeling desperate, he blindly shot another spell towards the shrubs and there was a pained yelp and a crash as something big went down.

Harry attempted to reach Thomas again, throwing himself to the ground with his arms spread out. His fingers merely brushed against the cool silver of the Portkey before he was harshly yanked away, but the small touch of magic was enough for Thomas to disappear in a swirl of colours. Not enough for Harry himself to flee to safety, however.

_At least they can't do anything to _him_ anymore._

"Wand, take the wand!" someone shouted and Harry whirled around, his heart wildly thumping in his heart – he knew he was completely surrounded by a pack of werewolves who, despite their human form, were lethal and way stronger than him. But Harry wasn't going down without a fight, oh no.

Shaking his head clear, he transformed a broken twig into a silver arrow and duplicated it in a flash. In a way, Harry regretted that he had Portkeyed Thomas away, since the younger man had been armed with the usual anti-werewolf package Aurors carried around, whereas Harry had left the spikes of silver and other useful items into his office. Transformed silver was not as effective as the real thing, but Harry learned it worked well enough as he sent an array of the transfigured twigs into the twilight and multiple howls of agony echoed in the forest.

But the werewolves were fast, faster and so much stronger than him, and they knew the territory. Harry lost the advantages of his experience as an Auror and his magical strength as he repeatedly faltered in his steps, stumbling on the uneven ground. It was impossible for him to watch every direction and soon enough, someone sneaked up on him from behind and an arm wrapped itself around his throat, chocking. Harry gasped, wriggling furiously, and viciously jabbed his elbow into the soft flesh behind him.

He was released and he attempted to spun around, raising his wand high, but a hand shot out from nowhere and grabbed his arm, twisting it with such viciousness Harry heard the dry crack of a bone. He cried out from the sudden pain and the wand fell from his lax grip.

_No!_

His feet were kicked from under him and he crashed to the ground like a rag doll, landing on his aching belly. A heavy weight settled on top of him, a weight that relentlessly pressed him against the moss and ferns. Harry struggled weakly, his broken hand hurting like a bitch from where it was bent under him, but when the weight became so overbearing he could barely get enough air into his lungs to keep consciousness, he unwillingly halted, panting.

"And so falls the great Harry Potter," a rough voice whispered into his ear and Harry shivered. He knew that voice.

"_Greyback_."

The werewolf chuckled. "The one and only, Potter."

Harry felt a hot surge of hatred that made him grit his teeth together. Fenrir Greyback was one of the few remaining Death Eaters that had not been caught after Voldemort had been killed, and the werewolf with his feral pack of followers was responsible for several, bloody acts.

"You scumbag," he spat out, craning his neck to see Fenrir, who was, apparently, sitting on his back. He got a glimpse of grey, matted hair, yellow eyes and sharp teeth, and shuddered. The werewolf reeked of sweat, blood and dirt. "Did you kill Thomas?"

"You sweet little partner? I left him for one of my boys." Fenrir leaned closer, his foul breath tickling Harry's ear in a mockery of lovers' intimacy. "He was so easy to kill, so young and tender."

Harry snarled, straining under the werewolf. His breath came in short, painful gasps that each sent spikes of agony throughout his body. "You shut your mouth about him, you -"

Fenrir laughed. "Or you'll do what? Spat at me?" He snatched Harry's injured arm and gave it a squeeze that made Harry nearly choke on his tongue as he clenched his jaws to keep himself from screaming. "You're nothing now, little Potter. Nothing." He let go of Harry's arm and the weight shifted on top of him a little, as if Greyback was looking around. "Who has his wand? Orion? Good. Break it in two."

Harry's eyes flew large and he all but stopped breathing. His _wand_. Before he could say anything, he heard the telltale crack of wood, and a backlash of power hit his body like a wave of electricity. Then there was a feeling of hollow numbness, like something was missing from his body – as if he had lost a limb.

He stared at the green moss his face was pressed against, shocked beyond being able to form coherent thoughts.

The werewolves laughed jeeringly around him, barking and yapping. Harry couldn't find the will inside him to fight as Fenrir yanked him up and slung over his shoulder, still trying to cope with the sudden loss of his wand.

* * *

It had been three days.

Or had it?

Harry wasn't that sure. He must've hit his head pretty bad during the fight and he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness – sometimes, it was night when he was awake, but he had seen the sun at least once.

Feeling restless, Harry got up and padded across the small cage he inhabited, wincing as his broken and now grotesquely swollen hand brushed against the wooden bars when he moved. With his healthy hand, he grabbed the bars to keep himself from swaying – his muscles were stiff as hell and he had received very little food and water during his short captivity, making him feel weak and light-headed.

The wood was rough under his hand and he trailed his fingers along the multiple bars. They may have looked fragile, but Harry had tried and tried breaking them with every ounce of strength he had left, to no avail. He couldn't help but wonder whether the cage had been built to contain a werewolf; maybe someone from Fenrir's pack had been exceptionally violent and had had to be restrained.

Pressing his face against the bars, Harry peered out from his small prison. The cage was at the outskirts of Fenrir's camp and it had the perfect view over the small, trampled meadow and the massive crags with caves on the other side, the thick forest on the other. The dark and damp-looking caves Harry knew were used by the werewolves to sleep.

The meadow itself was littered with fireplaces, small rounded stones to serve as benches and some sort of wooden racks to hold meat. Harry tried his best to avoid looking at the nearest red, bloody thing that seemed to be a skinned wild boar, waiting to be roasted or eaten as it was.

Harry shuddered. He had seen some of the werewolves consuming raw meat, their sharp teeth cutting into the squishy flesh enthusiastically enough for the blood to drip down their chins. Not a very attractive sight whatsoever.

Someone let out a high-pitched yap nearby in the woods and Harry cocked his head, listening. The pack had been gone for a couple of hours now, presumably hunting, and Harry had been blissfully alone. The worst of the considerably large pack was Fenrir, of course, with his obnoxious attitude and lust for killing, but Harry detested each and everyone of the wolves.

He had nothing against werewolves in general – Remus, for example, was one of the most gentle persons Harry knew -, but Fenrir's pack was full of bloodthirsty men that had the sickening stench of old blood covering them at all times. They were feral, having completely embraced the deathly nature of their inner wolf, and they enjoyed slaughter and carnage as much as Remus enjoyed reading and studying magic.

No, the wolves here bore no resemblance to Remus. They were merely savage beasts that cast a dark shadow over every werewolf out there, struggling to accept themselves. And they had killed Thomas, who had done nothing to them – he had just been in the wrong place in the wrong time.

"Hey there, pup. Finally awake again, I see."

Harry startled, whirling around so fast he nearly lost his shaky footing and had to grab the bars for support. Face burning, he straightened to see Fenrir leaning against the cage with a leery grin that showed off his sharp teeth. Harry felt a shiver of disgust running down his spine.

"Are you going to let me out already?" he rasped out, wincing from the pain in his throat. "They're looking for me, you know, and it's only a matter of time when they find this place -"

Fenrir threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound; it was grating and rough, like sandpaper. "This place hasn't been found for years, pup, and it's not going to be found now, either." A splash of yellow as he grinned again. "Even though your people would walk the woods in search of their lost hero, this camp is so deep within the forest they would never find it."

As the werewolf leaned closer, Harry took a step back, attempting to escape the smell of stale blood. "Then what are you going to do with me?" he demanded, defiantly glaring at Fenrir as if to prove both the werewolf and himself that he was not afraid.

If possible, Fenrir's grin spread even wider. "Haven't you noticed? It's full moon tonight. You know what happens during full moon, don't you?" The werewolf sucked in a pleased-sounding breath. "We get _hungry_, little Potter. And luckily for us, we're going to have a feast tonight."

Harry stared. "You wouldn't -"

"Oh yes, I definitely would, pup. I mean, here we have the sweet Golden Boy on a silver platter, right in our hands." Inhumanely fast, Fenrir's hand shot out from between the gap in the bars and Harry was unceremoniously yanked closer. The werewolf's breath was hot against Harry's cheek and he struggled, whimpering as his broken hand smashed against the bars. "We all _yearn_ for a taste, you know. I bet there is nothing left of you once the sun rises again."

With a choked cry, Harry jerked himself free and quickly backed up as much as the cage allowed him to. Nursing his seriously hurting hand against his chest, he sent a withering glare towards Fenrir. "Over my dead body," he spat out without thinking and Fenrir laughed again.

"Exactly, pup, _exactly_."

* * *

_Finally_.

Feeling elated, Draco crouched down and picked up the small plant from the ground.

_I thought I'd never find this bloody thing._

Slipping the fluxweed into the small pouch dangling from his belt, Draco knew he should be grateful that he had found the extremely rare plant from his very own home forest. A client had ordered a batch of Polyjuice Potion that required fluxweed that had been collected during full moon – if he had had to order the plant from somewhere, it would have cost him a pretty Knut.

The abundance of rare plants needed for potions in the forest was one of the reasons Draco had moved into the middle of the woods to run his business. The other reason was the silence and the absolute solitude the forest offered; after the war, the name of a Malfoy was held in high regard no more. Draco himself had been acquitted of all charges since he had been forced to become a Death Eater and had not killed anyone, but he still had come in contact with harassment and threats.

Draco didn't really mind being a hermit. After all, with his parents long dead and childhood friends either in Azkaban or otherwise perished, he had no-one out there anymore. No-one he missed or who would miss him. In addition, the Ministry had seized most of the Malfoy fortune, including the Manor. Making potions, often quite complex and dangerous in nature, and selling them to certain clients and the black market in general by owl mail provided Draco both something to do with his life and the money he needed for food.

He was alone most of the time, leaving his cottage only for trips to the nearest town for everyday supplies, but Draco felt he really needed no-one. He was a solitude creature, always had been.

Draco inhaled deeply, the fresh air cooled by the night making him feel content and whole in the inside. A lingering howl in the distance didn't startle him; he knew there were werewolves in the forest, but they had made an unvoiced deal – they never bothered him and he never bothered them.

_It's not like I'll ever even run into them._

Something came barrelling from the darkness then, all the sudden, promptly knocking Draco down. The bewildered blonde lay on his back on the ground, dazed, as that _something_ fell heavily on him. _What in the name of -_

"Please," came a wheeze, rough and laboured, and Draco froze. With swift movements, he firmly grabbed the person who had collided with him and lifted them both to their feet.

"_Lumous_," Draco whispered.

In the magical light, he stared at the man he held up. He was half-naked, wearing only a pair of battered, black trousers, and covered in blood and dirt. Scratches and bruises covered his grimy body, as if he had rolled around in heap of mud and razors, but the most prominent damage on him were the four deep gashes across his face, running in a slanted manner from his left temple to the right corner of his mouth. The cuts had missed the eyes just barely, the eyes that seemed somehow... familiar.

Draco's own eyes widened. "_Potter_?"

Weak hands fluttered against his chest, digging into his robes. "Help me," Potter whispered with a broken voice, seemingly not even recognizing Draco. "Please, help me."

"What the bloody hell is going on here -"

A sharp bark interrupted Draco and he jumped slightly, looking over his shoulder just as Potter let out a terrified squeak. A massive wolf stood just behind him, its yellow eyes threateningly gleaming as it took another silent step closer. From the wolf's shaggy, grey mane, Draco knew it was Greyback – he had seen the werewolf plenty of times during the short war, and he had despised the foul half-man from the start.

_So it's _his_ pack that's been running around in this forest. I should have known._

There was quiet padding, cracks of twigs, and numerous wolves stepped forward from the shadows, circling them. Draco tracked their moments warily. "What do you want?"

Greyback barked again and pulled his lips back in a wolf-like smile, his sharp canines showing. He pointed towards Potter with his muzzle, letting out a commanding growl. Potter whimpered, his eyes wide with terror as he tried to burrow deeper into Draco's robes.

Draco looked at the mass of wolves surrounding them, all of them snarling and grimacing, ready to pounce and maim. Then he looked at Potter, or rather, the trembling shadow of him.

Greyback growled again, and Draco knew it was only a matter of time when the werewolf would attack both of them. Attempting to be both gentle and firm, he carefully disentangled Potter's bruised hands from his robes and averted his eyes to avoid looking at the horrified look on Potter's mangled face. "I'm sorry, Potter, but I'm not going to risk my life to save yours."

But despite his fierce efforts, Draco couldn't resist glancing at Potter as Greyback pounced on him. Raw, naked fear and disbelief was all over Potter's face, but he didn't say anything, even as Fenrir closed his jaws around his upper arm. Potter merely stared, his eyes dark and dead.

His wand limp by his side, Draco watched as Fenrir dragged Potter away, kicking and screaming. The rest of the wolves quickly followed, yapping excitedly as they went, and then silence fell again, thick and forbidding.

Draco stood stock still for a moment, staring after the wolves, then made a sharp whirl around and stalked back to his cottage. Mechanically, he went through every cabinet and cupboard and collected every piece of silver he had in hand, then transfigured them into sharp objects such as knives and stakes. His lips tightly pursed, he packed everything into a small bag that he slung over his shoulder.

The haunting image of Potter's eyes never left his mind, and Draco swallowed.

_He better appreciate this or I'll throw him right back out._

Draco knew the way to the wolves' camp. He had stumbled on it once, by accident, and hastily retreated before he had been noticed. He had never cared much for werewolves' company.

Carefully parting a wall of shrubs, Draco peeked into the open area behind it. He had used a complex spell to mask his scent, so he knew he wouldn't be tracked down by his smell – not that the wolves would actually notice him, the way they were gathered into the middle of the field, yapping, barking and howling, as if they were laughing.

An anguished scream pierced the air, a human scream full of pain.

_Potter._

Sure enough, as Draco squinted to see better, slowly advancing, he saw a stumbling figure among the wolves. Potter kept trying to run, desperately twisting around, but each time, a wolf leapt on him, biting and scratching in a casual manner.

_They're playing with him_, Draco realized with a sick feeling in his stomach, just as another wolf pounced and Potter went down in a tumble of limbs. _Didn't their mothers teach them not to play with their food?_

His mind set in grim determination, Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a long, silvery knife. Aiming carefully, he hurled it through the air. A surprised yap later, a smaller wolf at the sidelines collapsed. None of the other wolves paid attention, so focused they were on Potter, just as Draco had thought they would be. With a satisfied twist of his lips, he continued taking out the wolves that were low in the rank, thus left outside the main circle around Potter.

The werewolves weren't blind, however, and after four smaller wolves lay on the ground, twitching, Greyback let out a sudden howl and the rest of the wolves froze. Suddenly, Draco felt the weight of dozens of yellow eyes trained on him.

He crooked a smirk. "A nice party you have here. It's quite unfortunate I'm going to have to interrupt this lovely occasion, but I really wouldn't like you to kill Potter."

Greyback growled, a low sound that vibrated even inside Draco's chest, and bared his teeth, long, white and slick with saliva. The werewolf looked like he was prepared to order his pack to attack, so Draco did his best to beat him to it. Throwing a cluster of small silvery objects into the air, he shouted out a spell and the objects violently exploded into hundreds of tiny pieces.

The werewolves threw themselves away from the range of the deathly shower of silver, just as Draco had planned, creating disorganized chaos not even Greyback's furious barking didn't help to calm down. Swooping in, Draco quickly snatched Potter from the ground, cast a hasty charm on him to make him weigh practically nothing, and _ran_.

He ran as if he had the hell hounds on his heels – and judging by the sounds, the wolves _had_ realized their dinner had been stolen and were in infuriated pursuit. Draco threw volleys of curses over his shoulder as he ran, clutching Potter in his arms as hard as he could possibly squeeze him.

_Never mind his injuries, it would be less than amusing if I dropped him now. _

Something attempted to nip at Draco at his ankle and he cast a hasty _Reducto_, sending the pursuer back with a sharp yip. Shadowy forms were everywhere at his sides, jumping through bushes and leaping over fallen trees, all gleaming yellow eyes and snapping jaws. Draco's lungs felt as if they were in fire and he was scratched from head to toe by the merciless branches and shrubs, but he kept on running as fast as he could.

_Just a few hundred yards now. I can do it. _

He nearly tripped over a rock and stumbled, but the feel of a wolf's hot breath on his bare skin gave him the extra spur he needed to quicken his pace. Sweat prickled into Draco's eyes and his vision became blurry from fear of being caught and pure exhaustion – but there was no way he could give in now, not when he was so close. He blasted away the werewolf snapping at his robes again.

_Just around that tree, over that stream, across that clearing._ Draco doubled his efforts, mentally whipping at his tiring body. _Just a few more - _

Never had the dim lights of his cottage looked so welcoming.

Draco shouted out the last blasting spells behind him – two wolves let out pained howls – and dove inside his house, banged the door shut and immediately warded it against physical attacks. A second later the door rattled as something large and heavy slammed against it, repeatedly.

Shaken and panting, Draco rose to his knees from the floor he had fallen onto, hastily rolled Potter on the rug, and strengthened the wards protecting his cottage. The few windows were unbreakable, but Draco flicked his wand and thick curtains swished over them, preventing any peeking inside. He even sealed his fireplace and made the ground underneath the cottage impossible to dig in.

After he was absolutely certain no-one could break in using physical power, all Draco could do for a moment was to sit on the floor and _breath_, trembling as the adrenaline slowly exited his system. Every intake of breath hurt like there was acid in his lungs and his feet seriously ached, but to think of what would have happened if the wolves had caught him...

Draco shuddered. There was ireful howling and barking all around the house, and scratching and _booms_ as the werewolves circled the cottage, trying to find a way in.

_Good luck with that. _

Then a weak moan stole his attention, and Draco looked down.

Potter looked terrible. He had acquired more bites and scratches since he had barrelled into Draco, and he was practically covered with blood and grime. His hand, his wand-hand, was dark purple and so swollen it barely resembled a human hand anymore. Dried blood and dirt matted down his usually bird nest of a hair. Some of the more shallow scratches were probably from the sharp pieces of silver Draco had thrown in, but Draco doubted Potter would mind.

"Potter? Can you hear me?"

His eyes were tightly squeezed shut and he shivered, his limbs occasionally twitching with spasms. No, obviously Potter couldn't hear him.

"Right," Draco muttered to himself, climbing to his trembling feet. "Well, I got you here and you aren't going to die, Potter, for all the trouble I went through to save your arse."

Ignoring the growls and howls from outside, Draco levitated Potter into his bedroom and softly dumped him on his bed. He grimaced as blood immediately stained the sheets, but there were no other bedrooms in the house. Just one bedroom and the bathroom attached to it, the joint sitting room and kitchen and Draco's working place upstairs in the attic. Very humble and un-Malfoy-ish, but unnoticeable and comfortable nevertheless.

Draco hesitated for a moment, wavering, but banished Potter's mangled trousers. _Screw modesty._ After applying several cleaning charms, the whole extent of Potter's numerous injuries were revealed to him and as Draco gazed at the bleeding teeth-marks around Potter's torso, he realized for the first time that he had brought a werewolf-infected person into his house.

_Dear Merlin._

Draco had the sudden urge to sit down.

_Potter's going to be a werewolf._

As if he had heard him, Potter whimpered on the bed, a grimace of anguish on his torn face.

_That is, if he survives this._

Pursing his lips in determination, Draco nodded to himself and rushed out of the room into his potions laboratory. Deciding to worry about Potter being a werewolf after he was _not_ on the brink of death, Draco collected a few vials from the shelves and retuned to his bedroom. He was not a Healer by nature, oh no, but he had picked up a few tricks along the way and Potter should be satisfied he'd even try. And besides, there was no-one else at the moment to help him – there was no Disapparating and Flooing, and even walking out the door was a suicide mission for now.

Mildly annoyed by the way Potter kept twitching and mewling, Draco put him into deep slumber in order for him to heal the git properly. As Potter's anxious movements subsided and his distorted face went lax, Draco fed him a Restorative Potion to keep him alive long enough for a diagnosis, and ran a wand over his body to categorize the would-be werewolf's injuries.

To his relief, he found no serious internal damage. Potter's broken hand was the only bone broken, as far as he could tell, and he healed it to the best of his abilities, wrapping a thick layer of bandages he had conjured around the limb. Draco wasn't sure whether Potter would ever use the hand since the bones had been crushed at least three days ago and there was evidence of further abuse to the hand, but at least he wouldn't lose it.

_I wonder how long he was Greyback's visitor. And how the bleeding hell did he even manage to get captured?_

The bites covering Potter's torso were a whole different thing. Marks left by a werewolf were hard to heal in any case, and Draco had limited knowledge of treating a patient mangled by animals. He carefully cleaned the numerous wounds and patched them up with bandages, dabbing some of the worse ones with a salve of his own making that helped flesh to regenerate.

He had left Potter's face last in purpose._ Thank Merlin he's asleep._

A flash of Potter's eyes, wide with terror and then accusative, and Draco shivered, shaking his head to banish the image.

Reluctantly, he stared at the deep gouges that went across Potter's gaunt face, probably left by a paw with sharp nails. They looked horrible and he knew they were going to scar.

_He just can't help but get his face scarred every time. _

Sighing, Draco cleaned away the mud and dirt from Potter's face and carefully spread the salve over the cuts. _Let's hope that they'll fade even a little._

After he was sure Potter wouldn't bleed out on him, Draco checked his vital signs again. Potter's heart was beating weakly and his breathing was shallow, but Draco supposed there was nothing he could do for them now. He force-fed his patient a couple of vials of Blood Replenishing Potions, gently massaging Potter's throat to get the liquid down, and some other potions meant to heal Potter's concussion and to keep his strengths up.

_There_.

Draco leaned back and swiped a tired hand over his forehead.

_That should keep him alive at least this night._

Outside the cottage, frustrated howls still rang out from time to time and Draco crept to the closest window, taking a cautious peek. It was still rather dark, but the stars were fading in the sky – sunrise was not far away. Draco could make out the shadowy outlines of the wolves still stalking around the house, growling and snarling, and he let the curtains slide shut again.

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him, then, as if every ounce of energy had been forced out of him, and Draco found himself slowly sliding to the floor, his back against the wall. He stared at the unmoving body on his bed, absent-mindedly thinking that he should cover Potter up.

_I have a naked, half-dead Harry Potter in my bedroom._

The insane hilarity of the situation struck Draco like the bat of a Chaser and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from bursting out in hysterical laughter.

_Good grief. I'm going crazy._

Forcing himself to calm down, Draco held his aching sides and flicked his wand, swiftly conjuring a thick blanket over Potter's torso. Thinking a moment, he conjured some underwear on him, as well. He was then left eyeing what was left bare of Potter, the stubborn blood stains and the badly scratched skin on his chest, the grotesque bite on his shoulder. The marks on Potter's face stuck out like whip marks, precise but still somehow ragged. They made Potter look distorted, unfamiliar now that his eyes were closed.

_I wonder if I did him a favour, after all._ Draco reached a hand from the floor and rearranged the blanket better. _If he survives this, it's not the end to his suffering. Not only is he physically mangled now, there's bound to be scars on the inside, as well. _

Draco sighed and laboriously clambered back up to his feet. It was becoming silent as the sun gradually rose, the growls of the wolves vanishing into the disappearing darkness like retreating mist.

_They'll be back, though. _

He was certain there was someone outside even though it was deathly quiet, hiding in the shadows and keeping an eye on the house in case Draco was stupid enough to open the door.

_They must know that the only way out from here is through that door and though the forest. No Apparating, no Floo. Even if an owl comes knocking, I can't open the bloody window or some of the wards will fall and the wolves can attack._

Of course, Draco could try making himself invisible and mask both his scent and any sounds he made and sneak out, but he knew the sensational senses werewolves possessed even in human form. He just couldn't take the risk, especially since he would have to drag Potter's unconscious arse with him because if Draco left the house, the certain wards keyed to him personally wouldn't hold and Potter, all alone in the house, would be killed in a minute. Draco knew he could destroy or at least subdue about ten of the werewolves if and when he would be noticed if he stepped a foot outside, but then there would be another dozen left to rip out his gut and feast on his entrails.

_Gross_.

All kinds of questions were running around Draco's mind, making his head spin nauseatingly, and he sank down onto the armchair next to the bed.

_How did Potter end up with the werewolves?_

_How the hell are we going to get out of here? _

He felt his head nod forward, his eyes heavy and itchy. Feeling dead tired, he twitched his wand and mumbled out a monitoring spell that would alert him if there were any noticeable changes in Potter's breathing or heartbeat.

_Why do I always get involved in such messes? Merlin damn you, Potter._


	2. From the Brink of Death to Back Again

**Warnings**: Violence, Bloody Scenes, sort of Pre-Slash (HPDM), Cursing

**Chapter 2: From the Brink of Death to Back Again**

* * *

Judging by the hesitant warmth of the rising sun on his face, it must have been just a couple hours until Draco was startled awake again. There was a buzz inside his head, loud and unrelenting, and Draco frowned, disoriented by the broken sleep. In irritation, he tried batting at the sides of his head, snuggling closer to the pillows of his armchair.

_Armchair_?

Draco's eyes flew completely open as a scream of pain cut the air and he nearly fell off onto the floor, hastily making his way to his feet.

Potter was twisting madly on the bed, all sweaty and grimacing, violent spasms jerking his legs and arms. His back arched as he let out another hoarse scream, a sound that was full of something raw and choked. Blood was seeping through the carefully placed bandages, and Draco cursed.

"Don't you go bleeding even more onto my sheets, Potter!"

He grabbed Potter's jerking shoulders, trying to get him to stay still for him to perform a diagnosis spell to see what was wrong. Potter's heart was thumping wildly and he was gasping for breath, tears falling from beneath his shut eyelids. "Potter, will you _stop_ that for a moment -"

A third scream, even more anguished and brutal this time, revealed Potter's alarmingly lengthening and sharpening teeth that snapped at the air like wolf's jaws. Draco jerked away as if he had been stung, horrified.

_Oh sweet Merlin. His system is so screwed up he's showing the symptoms of lycanthrope even after the full moon._

Even as Draco stared, Potter's nails became elongated, shredding at the stained sheets under him and his mane of a hair grew shaggy, more coarse.

_This is not good._

He turned on the spot, dashing out of the room of pained screams and whimpers and growls, and straight up into his laboratory again. He fumbled through the shelves hurriedly, several vials smashing to the floor as he searched – _there_! Snatching up the vial of experimental Wolfsbane Potion, Draco ran back to the bedroom where Potter was convulsing on the bed, his head tilted so far back it was a wonder his neck hadn't been snapped yet. It was obvious Potter's weakened body was not ready to turn into that of a wolf's and it was struggling against the birth of a new werewolf – a losing battle, Draco was certain of that.

Shooting out spells to strap Potter's flailing limbs down, Draco seized Potter's chin and forced the potion down as quickly as he could, massaging Potter's throat again to help it go down. "Swallow it, you stupid git, _swallow_ it."

Almost immediately, Potter's trashing subdued and he lay there, shivering. His sharp teeth retreated, as did his nails, and he was left looking like the mangled man he had been. Draco let out a shaky breath of relief, curling his trembling hands into fists. "Potter? Can you hear me?"

There was no answer, Potter had fallen unconscious again.

_Great_.

Rubbing at his eyes with a jaded sigh, Draco set on re-bandaging Potter's wounds. He was satisfied with the way his potion had worked; he had been researching the Wolfsbane just out of curiosity for a few months now, and thought he had managed to better the formula a little. It was supposed to make the transformation even less painful than it was with the common Wolfsbane and the wolf more controllable, but at least with Potter, it had managed to force out the wolf completely.

_Probably just because Potter's frail condition, though. _

After patching Potter up again, Draco stretched and worked out the knots in his crammed muscles. His feet were aching from the desperate run from last night and his neck was sending jolts of pain every time he moved his head. Sending a disdainful glance at the armchair that was comfy to sit but not sleep on, Draco walked to the window.

_Let's see what's the traffic outside._

Sure enough, after a moment of concentrated watching, Draco could make out at least four stealthily moving figures in the bushes. No doubt the others were close by, ready to swarm the house the second they saw their chance.

Draco snorted. _I'd like to see them try, those mongrels._

Casting a look at the resident mongrel on his bed, he placed the monitor spell on Potter again and left the room. It was no use to try and sleep again; he might as well start the day already.

As he made himself light breakfast, he was glad he had just restocked his supplies. There would be enough food for two people for a few weeks if they ate sensibly. And Draco seriously wished they would find a solution of some sort to the problem of being surrounded by bloodthirsty werewolves before that. He had no real yearning to spend numerous weeks stuffed inside a small house alone with Potter the werewolf.

The day went by slowly. Draco kept himself busy going through his books in search of spells or _anything_ to help them get rid of the werewolves. Occasionally, he checked Potter's condition and doused him up with various healing potions and salves, and as the clock struck five in the afternoon, he noticed that Potter was finally starting to arouse.

Draco leaned closer, putting away the thick book he had been reading for the past hour. "Potter?"

Potter's eyelids were twitching and his head turned from one side to the another, and back again. He frowned, then grimaced as the burrowing of his forehead must have painfully stretched the slashes across his face.

Draco waited patiently for a moment, then huffed in annoyance and poked at Potter. "Wake up, you great sod. I can't wait to hear you thank me for saving your sorry life."

To Draco's immense pleasure, Potter awoke with a startled gasp, his eyes snapping wide open. He looked disoriented and lost as he blinked rapidly, and his breath came in so fearful pants Draco felt a pang of pity.

"Hey," he said, trying to make his voice soothing and non-threatening. "It's okay, Potter, you're safe. Well, at least for now, but - " Draco promptly shut up as Potter turned to stare at him, his eyes eerily light and bright. _He must have a fever._ "Are you in pain?"

Potter blinked. "Malfoy?" he bemusedly croaked, straining to get up. Draco quickly put his hand over Potter's chest and gently pressed him back down. Potter flopped on the bed without resistance, his eyes big as he kept on staring Draco.

"Yes, it is I." Draco cast the diagnosis spell, nodding to himself. "I have started the healing process, but I cannot guarantee that -"

"You saved me."

Draco halted, then peered down on Potter. "Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?"

"I – no." Potter appeared honestly confused. "But why? I saw you – before. When I ran into you." He shuddered. "And you walked away then."

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Draco sneered. "A man can change his mind, can he not? Besides, maybe I saved you just because I wanted to have an Order of Merlin, First Class, for saving the Hero's miserable arse."

But to be honest, Draco had no idea why he had decided to save Potter. He could have just stayed in his cottage and let the wolves do what they desired – he had never cared for Potter, the world would have kept on spinning just fine without him in his life. But the look on Potter's face when Draco had pushed him into Greyback's arms, it had felt as if it had shattered something in him.

He had never seen Potter so vulnerable, so unguarded; Draco knew that look would have stayed within him for the rest of his life, _haunting_ him until the day he died, as a memory of the greatest mistake he had made. Draco was a lot of things you couldn't say with a smile on your face, but a heartless monster he was not.

In any case, Potter had testified on his behalf in the Death Eater Trials after the war. He felt as if he had to pay him back some way.

_Oh yes. That's a good one._ Draco latched on to it immediately.

"Now we're even," he said flippantly. "You helped me in the Trials," he added as Potter looked even more baffled. "And now that I've saved your life, we're even. I owe you nothing from now on."

"Right. Okay." Potter stared at him for a brief moment before struggling to get into a sitting position again. "Well, I think I should be going then -"

"Potter."

"- my friends must be worried to death by now and -"

"_Potter_."

"- I have to file a report on those werewolves -"

Draco slammed Potter back flat on his back, a snarl on his lips. "_Potter_!"

Potter blinked at him owlishly, wincing as Draco's hands brushed against his wounds. "What, Malfoy?"

"There's something you should know. Do you remember how I got to you?"

As Potter gave a hesitant shake of his head, Draco sighed and proceeded to give him the tale of the daring rescue and how they were currently under siege. "There is no way of contacting anyone since both Floo and Apparating are out of the question, as is using the owls," he summed up. "And _no_, we can't fight our way out of here," he snapped as Potter opened his mouth, and Potter's face fell.

"I'm sure I could -"

"No, Potter, you can't. You have no wand, am I correct? Exactly. And you're weak as a kitten at the moment, given your condition."

Potter looked ready to protest, but at Draco's fierce glare, he fell meekly back against the pillows, cringing as he did. Draco frowned and got up. "I'll go get you some Pain Reliever Potion."

When he returned, he found Potter staring down at himself. His fingers ghosted over the bloodied bandages, a blank expression on his face. He momentarily glanced up at Draco as the blonde set down a collection of vials on the bedside table. "I'm a werewolf now, aren't I?" he quietly asked. His voice was just as blank as his face, hollow and empty, tinted with just the hint of sadness. "They bit me during full moon."

Draco said nothing. Really, what could he say? _"Oh yes, Potter, you are, indeed, a werewolf. Bound to change into a hairy monster once a month. Oh, and did I mention those nice little cuts you have across your face? Well then, have a jolly rest of your life!"_

"How do you feel?" he found himself asking. "You're pretty badly torn there."

Potter ducked his head. "I'm all right." He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you have a... a mirror or something?"

"I don't think you should -"

"Please, Malfoy?"

Draco paused. _Well, what the hell._ He conjured a small mirror and handed it over to Potter who took it gingerly with his healthier hand. From the corner of his eye, Draco watched as Potter gazed at himself from the mirror, his expression never changing.

"They'll scar, of course, but they won't stay that way, you know," Draco murmured. "And there are glamours and spells to hide them."

"Yeah," Potter said softly, lifting his other hand to touch his face. "I'd like to be alone for a moment, if that's okay."

Draco inclined his head. "Of course. Just take those potions on the table and for Merlin's sake, _don't_ get up."

Potter merely nodded, and Draco retreated from the room, feeling oddly concerned. It came to him that Potter must be hungry, for not having eaten anything for a long time – Draco doubted Greyback had served much food.

_He really should eat, or he'll grow even more weaker. I can't keep stuffing him with nutritional potions_.

He frowned at himself as he opened the refrigerator door.

_I don't care, I just don't want him to die on me before I get that shiny Order of Merlin._

He took his time making some eggs, bacon and toast, placed them onto a tray with a glass of juice and walked back into the bedroom. He didn't bother to knock, it was _his_ bedroom, after all.

Potter was in the same position he had left him, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. The mirror was on the floor, as if Potter had thrown in there. Impassive eyes turned to Draco as he entered, then swivelled back to the ceiling.

"I brought you some food," Draco said and banished the now empty potion vials on the bedside table, setting down the tray of light dinner. "You need to keep your strengths up -"

"I'm not hungry."

Draco gave a frown. "You aren't going to heal -"

"Stop that, Malfoy," Potter said suddenly, his voice hoarse.

Draco blinked. "Stop what?"

Potter looked at him again. "Stop acting like you care." As Draco started to sputter - _the nerve!_ - , Potter sighed wearily. "Look, I'll get out of your hair as soon as possible and then we don't have to see each other again. You can drop the act of playing the concerned Healer, I won't be here for long."

Draco sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. "What, you're going to wobble out and crawl your way through the mass of your werewolf-pals?" Potter winced, but Draco paid no heed. "Like it or not, Potter, you _need_ me. You're not well, not even close, and right now, I'm the only one who can help you. So would you please stop waffling in that pit of self-pity?"

Potter's eyes flashed with something dark. "You don't know anything -"

"Oh boo-hoo, Potter, yes, I don't know how much you're suffering in the inside," Draco snapped, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "But this not the place for brooding. You can mope all you want once we get out, but try to keep yourself together for now. Hell, I risked my own life, my safety, my way of life, to save you and this is how you thank me? Once we're out, I don't think I can even return to this house, my _home_, ever again." Draco felt his nostrils flare at the thought of losing the cottage. "Well fuck you, Potter. Try to grow up."

Not paying attention to Potter's stunned look, Draco spun around and stalked away, slamming the door shut behind him.

_Merlin, he's such a moron. A blasted idiot with mush inside his head._

Still fuming, Draco flopped down on a chair and glared at the closed door.

_Ungrateful brat of a child._ He gritted his teeth, vividly reminded why, exactly, he had so greatly disliked the git when they were at school. _Arrogant sod who doesn't think of anyone else than himself. I ought to throw him out to end both his and my sufferings. _

Then, as if the wolves had heard his thoughts, there was a loud rattle against the door. Draco stiffened, his grip of his wand tightening.

"Malfoy!" came a shout from outside, muffled but still clear in Draco's ears.

_Greyback_.

"Malfoy, we can make a deal."

Draco sneered.

"You give us Potter, and we will leave and never bother you again."

_Like I could trust you._

Still... He began to fear himself as Greyback's offer sounded suddenly tempting.

_I could do it. I could give them Potter and go back to my life._

Draco's hands clenched into fists.

"Malfoy, did you hear me? It's an easy exchange – Potter for your freedom."

_No-one would ever know. _

_No-one but him_.

_I would always know, always hate myself._

"This is your last chance, Malfoy! All you have to do is open the door."

"Shut up!" Draco shouted, even though he knew the wards prevented any sounds escaping from inside the cottage. "Just _shut up!"_

He whirled his wand in furious circles, forming a soundproof bubble around the house, and Greyback's voice droned out. Draco took a deep breath, his head bowed and tried to relax his tensed up muscles.

"Thanks," a quiet voice said all the sudden, and Draco's head snapped up. Potter was standing at the doorway to the bedroom, heavily leaning against the door frames with whitened knuckles and a subdued expression on his gaunt face. "For that. And for... for saving my life. Thank you."

Draco stared at him, unmoving for awhile. Then he cleared his throat. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Potter shrugged, the slight movement nearly causing him to stagger. "Yeah, I guess so. But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for how I acted and that I really appreciate what you did for me."

"Fine." Draco sighed. He felt suddenly so weary, so tired. "Let's get you back lying down before you keel over."

He helped Potter back to the bed and checked his injuries again. Potter never said a thing when Draco applied a new layer of salve over his wounds, and neither did he. It felt as if something akin to understanding had fallen between them. Draco kind of liked it, somehow. He was too tired to argue constantly – fighting would get them nowhere.

Potter murmured his thanks again when Draco collected his jars and vials away. Draco glanced at him. "You don't have to go on thanking me all the time now, you know."

"Yeah." Potter fidgeted, squirming under the sheets that covered him from the waist down. Draco reminded himself that he should give Potter some better underwear than the conjured pair. "It just felt appropriate."

"Sure." Draco ran a critical eye over Potter's body. Some of the marks were already looking better, but Potter was still a far cry from a healthy person. "I'll get you some Pain Reliever Potion and something to help you sleep for the night."

"Can I – I have to, uh, use the bathroom." Potter seemed abashed. "Like, right now."

Draco pursed his lips. "I hope you'll manage the visit by yourself?"

"Of course!" Potter huffed, already struggling to get up with a fierce grimace on his face. Draco watched him mildly, then sighed and took Potter by the elbow, directing him to the bathroom.

"I'll go get the potions, yell if you need help, all right?"

Potter waved him off impatiently, almost slamming the door close to Draco's face in his haste.

_Prick_.

Shaking his head, Draco went to collect the needed potions. When he returned, Potter was already sitting back on the bed, gingerly lowering himself into a lying position.

Draco handed him the first potion. All he needed to say was "this is for the pain", and Potter gulped it down with gusto. Draco quirked an eyebrow at Potter's relieved sigh, but didn't comment – if Potter was in pain and too childish to ask for a potion, it wasn't his problem.

"And this will help you sleep," he said, offering Potter the second vial. "It won't knock you out right away like the normal formula, but lets you calm down and fall asleep naturally."

Potter studied the potion with a curious expression. "Did you invent this yourself?"

"It's what I do these days, Potter," Draco drawled. "Potions."

"Right. Of course." Potter drank the potion without hesitation. _Oh how easy it would be to poison him. How gullible can one get?_ "Thanks."

Draco took the empty vials and slipped them into his pocket. "The potion will take effect soon, relaxing you so that you can go to sleep in fifteen minutes or less." He turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob. "I'll be in the lab if you need me, just shout out or something."

"Malfoy?"

Draco glanced over his shoulder at Potter's hesitant voice. "Yes?"

"Could you... " Potter grimaced, twisting the blanket in his uninjured hand. "Could you stay? Until I fall asleep."

Draco noticed him sneaking furtive glances towards the window, and he understood. Potter knew the werewolves were still out there, circling the cottage – some of them could be right outside that covered window, trying to peer in. Despite the fact that Draco nor Potter could hear or see them, they knew they were not alone. "All right. I can stay for a bit."

Potter looked a little embarrassed but relieved nevertheless, and he sank further into the pillows. Draco sat down on the armchair, crossing his legs as he picked up the book he had been reading when waiting for Potter to wake up.

It was quiet for a moment, so peaceful that Draco was nearly startled when Potter suddenly broke the silence. "Have you lived here ever since the Trials?" Potter was gazing at him steadfastly. "I mean, I never saw you again after they declared you innocent."

Draco glanced up from his book. "Yes. This cottage is an old refuge house that has been in Malfoy possession for centuries. Due to its humble nature, though, it has been rarely used."

"Why would you want to live here?" Potter frowned. "It's pretty quiet here, isn't it?"

Sighing, Draco put the book down. "That's exactly why I chose to settle down here, Potter. No-one comes here, no-one bothers me."

"Sounds pretty lonely to me," Potter remarked quietly. Draco gave a small sneer.

"I work well alone. Besides, there is none I wish to see and spend time with in the wizarding world, Potter. It's a dead world to me now. This cottage provides me everything I need – protection, solitary, a roof over my head."

Potter raised an eyebrow, even though it seemed to be quite painful. "And companionship?"

"I told you," Draco snapped, "I don't _need_ companionship. Can't you comprehend the meaning of the word solitary? Besides, I don't need to explain myself to you, Potter."

"Okay, fine – sorry I asked."

Potter quietened, his features relaxing as the potion began to work. His breathing became calm and soothing. Draco watched as Potter's eyelids drooped and he finally fell into deep, peaceful slumber that chased away any nightmares he might have.

_Took its sweet time._

Draco rose to his feet, the book pressed to his chest, and Potter immediately twitched, as if he had heard Draco's movements through his sleep. Draco frowned, then glanced at the window. He could almost sense the yellow eyes on the other side of the glass, watching, waiting, biding their time.

It was odd. Draco felt that Potter shouldn't be left alone – he felt... _protective_.

He shook his head, irritated. _Must be the fatigue._

With a few flicks of his wand, Draco had transfigured the armchair into a small sofa with plush pillows and a warm woolly blanket.

_I'll just rest my eyes for a bit, that's all. Just in case Potter decides to have some complications. _

He settled down on the surprisingly comfortable sofa and drew the blanket over himself. It felt _good_ to be lying down, and Draco hummed in satisfaction, snuggling the mountain of pillows.

_Just a moment and then I'll leave. Just a … moment._

* * *

It had become a habit, apparently, to be woken up by the loud buzz in his ears at the crack of dawn.

A very annoying habit indeed.

Draco stumbled up, mumbling to himself as he staggered to where Potter lay, trashing again. "Potter, wake up, you great sod."

Potter writhed under his touch, clearly in pain, and his heart was beating like mad. And then, just like that, it stopped thumping altogether, and Potter stilled completely.

Draco froze with him. _What in the Merlin's name?_

Frantically, he began to analyse the contents of the potions Potter had consumed lately – regular Pain Reliever Potions, Sleep Reliever -

_Sleep Reliever with Wolfsbane._

Oh sweet Merlin. Draco almost smacked his face with his palm. How could have he been so _stupid_?

The Sleep Reliever of his own making contained witch hazel and the Wolfsbane moonstone to help gain emotional balance. Both very effective and powerful ingredients, but they reacted _badly_ when combined.

Cursing, Draco whipped out his wand. "_Accio_ Detoxing Potion!"

Normally, he wouldn't use the summoning charm to get his potions since the glass vials were so easy to break, but this was an emergency. Within seconds, the correct potion was in Draco's hands and he hurriedly poured it down Potter's unresisting throat.

"Come on, Potter, _come on_... "

Draco kept his unblinking gaze on Potter, breathing hard. Had he been to late? Had the two potions mingled in Potter's body for too long? Had -

Potter jolted violently, his body all but falling off the bed, and he drew in a long, rattled breath as his heart began beating again. Draco closed his eyes in relief for a brief moment.

"You _have_ to stop trying to die on me, Potter."

Potter gave a shaky laugh, panting as if he had ran a marathon. "S-sorry. I guess I have a habit of that."

Draco allowed a wry smirk. "Indeed. This is the second morning I've woken up at an ungodly hour to save your arse. Let's not do that tomorrow, yes?"

"I'll try my best," Potter wheezed. "What happened this time?"

"A complication with two potions that should not be mixed." Draco ran a hand through his hair. "My mistake, actually. I used potions I have tweaked myself and forgot some finer points about how moonstone and witch hazed should not be merged."

"Oh." Potter gave a shrug, his eyes fluttering close. "What did you use moonstone for?"

"Wolfsbane."

Potter's eyes snapped open and he stared at Draco for a moment. Then he slowly relaxed again. "Of course. Almost forgot that I'm a werewolf." His lips were pinched in distaste, but his gaze was curious. "Did I... change? The first night I was here?"

"You were trying to, but your body was fighting against it because you were so weak. I made you drank the potion and you stopped before anything drastic could happen."

Potter frowned. "Wolfsbane can do that? Halt the transformation?"

"The common Wolfsbane can't, but apparently, my version can." Draco wanted to open the curtains on the window, he wanted to see the rising sun, but he didn't dare – the forest around the cottage was swarming with hostile werewolves, after all. He didn't want them to get a look inside in any case.

He glanced at Potter, certain that he was about to sputter some nonsense about being a poor guinea big for Draco's potions, but instead, the look on Potter's face was of wonder. "You can do that? Malfoy, why have you been _hiding_ that kind of potion? So many people could benefit from it, you know."

"Yes, well." Draco licked his lips. "Do you think people would take a potion invented by a Malfoy?" He shook his head. "No. Besides, I haven't really tested that potion yet on anybody else than you. For all we know, it only works that one time."

"I wouldn't mind being a guinea pig, you know," Potter said, shrugging.

Draco raised an eyebrow, snorting. "You really trust me that much?"

"No, not really." Potter cocked his head. "But you've already saved my life, what, three times now? I reckon you wouldn't kill me just for the fun of it after all that trouble."

"Don't count on it, Potter," Draco drawled with another quirk of his eyebrow. He swished his wand to clear away the messed up, sweaty sheets and replaced them with a set of new ones. "Are you up for breakfast?"

"Sure." Potter started to sit up, and Draco gave a pained sigh, pushing the stubborn man back down.

"You stay here, Potter. You aren't fit for walking around yet. I don't want you collapsing all over the place and breaking your bones."

Potter scowled in annoyance, looking like a puppy that had been denied a delicious treat, and Draco almost smiled. "Fine," Potter huffed out, then looked down on himself. "Do you think I could have some, uh, clothes?"

Draco smirked. "What, you don't feel comfortable lying half-naked in my bed?"

There was a sound of outrage, then Draco was subjected to a dark glare. "You wish, Malfoy."

Shaking his head, Draco swished his wand and a pair of loose, black sweat trousers appeared on Potter's lower torso. "I wouldn't recommend you to use a shirt yet. The fabric would cause irritation to the injuries you have in your upper body and besides, it's easier to treat them like this. Satisfied?"

Potter studied the trousers, scratching the material. "Very. Thanks. Now, how's that breakfast coming along?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco walked out of the room.

_Demanding little prat._

As the bacon was sizzling on the pan, Draco glanced carefully through the kitchen window. He squinted for a few moments, but eventually, he saw a few men hiding in the bushes just as he had expected.

_Just bloody brilliant._

He let the curtains fall back down with a grim sigh and went back to preparing the breakfast.

"You want your bacon raw and bloody, Potter?" he called out loudly, moving the pan away.

"Oh _bite_ me, Malfoy!" came the indignant reply from the bedroom.

"I think that honour falls for you, Potter," Draco muttered under his breath, remembering the lengthened canines just before he had made Potter drank the Wolfsbane.

"What?"

"Nothing, Potter," Draco called over his shoulder and moved the crispy toast onto a plate. "Nothing."

_Damn that werewolf hearing._

He carried the breakfast-tray into the bedroom and set it down, taking the other plate for himself as he retreated onto the sofa. "Tuck in."

Potter eyed the contest of his plate. "Can we afford to eat this plenty? I mean, we don't know how long we have to stay here – shouldn't we, I don't know, ration the food or something?"

"Just eat, will you, Potter. The food is going to last."

"Fine. Don't blame me, then, when we run out of food."

"You can eat me if that happens."

"Very funny, Malfoy. Very funny."

"Don't blame the witty one, can't really help owning so plenty of nice, clever brains."

Potter snorted into his toast, but Draco chose to ignore it.

"So, Potter. What _were_ you doing in this forest to get you captured? Aren't you supposed to be an Auror or something?"

Draco noticed that Potter stiffened and his hands stilled for a short moment. "Yeah, I am an Auror." Potter pushed his half-full plate away. "We were here to check on a possible case of werewolves."

"We?" Draco questioned, frowning, and Potter shrugged.

"As in my partner and I. He... he got killed, just before Greyback and his pals snatched me."

"Oh," Draco murmured. "I'm sorry."

Potter shrugged again, his gaze morosely averted. "Yeah," he just said. "I managed to transport his body back to the Headquarters, but it was too late for me."

"So people know that something is wrong since your partner showed up dead. Did you tell anyone you were planning to come here?"

"We didn't mention an exact place," Potter confessed, a little guiltily. "We were supposed to do that afterwards."

_Oh, Potter. Ever the reckless little Gryffindor._

Draco sighed. "So there's no chance that your fellow Aurors can come looking for us here?"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head, "no, I don't think so."

"I guess we'll have to find another way out then." Draco ran a critical eye over Potter's injuries. "After you're all healed, of course. Are you finished with breakfast?"

After Potter nodded, Draco made his own, emptied plate float back to the kitchen and started to check Potter's wounds again.

"So how am I doing, doc?" Potter spoke up as Draco was finished smeared healing salve over the gashes across Potter's face.

Draco frowned, closing the jar of salve. ""Doc"?"

"Oh, nothing, a Muggle reference." Potter waved his hand with flippancy. "Never mind. But how is the healing process going?"

Draco scrutinized Potter critically from head to toe, lightly touching a bandage now and then with his hand to assess how an injury had healed. "It seems that your werewolf healing system is finally kicking in. The wounds are starting to close up and," Draco leaned closer to Potter to poke at the side of his head, "your concussion is gone." He took hold of Potter's previously broken arm, unwrapping the bandages. He nodded with satisfaction as unmarred, pale flesh came into view. "Your hand looks pretty good, too. Flex those fingers for me, would you."

Potter's fingers twitched, as if they didn't want to move, and Potter scowled, his face darkening.

"Try again," Draco said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest, observing. Potter's lips tightened in concentration and he stared down at his hand, eyes narrowed into slits. After a few tense moments, the fingers finally curled into a fist and relaxed again. Potter broke into a relieved smile, wriggling his fingers.

"Very good," Draco allowed. "You'll have to keep working on that hand to keep it usable, but I'm not sure if it's ever going to be the same again. You may have some troubles holding a fork, for example, or -"

Potter looked up. "Or a wand?"

Draco inclined his head and Potter's shoulders drooped. "Once we get out of here, you can seek professional help and your hand's full motor functionality may return," Draco added mildly to Potter's benefit. He tapped at the hand with his wand. "I have no skills in physiotherapy, I'm afraid."

"That's alright." Potter shrugged, morosely looking at his hand for a moment before tucking it away underneath the blanket. "How about my face?"

"Well." Draco traced the claw marks on Potter's face with his eyes. They had scarred and the swelling had gone down, but they would never vanish – in time, the slashes would probably fade into silvery lines, though. "It looks better compared to the way it looked a couple of days ago."

Potter smiled faintly. "So I guess I won't win that The Most Dashing Auror award this year."

Draco gave a loud snort. Secretly, he was a little impressed at how good Potter was taking the fact that his face was pretty much ruined from now on.

_If it were me_... Draco shuddered.

"I think you need to rest now," he said, collecting the empty vials of potions away from the table. "I'll go do some research. You know where the bathroom is if you need it."

Potter nodded and Draco left the bedroom, briefly checking his stock of potions before carrying a few hefty books over the kitchen table. He started leafing through the volumes, looking for anything related to protecting oneself against werewolves or attacking them.


	3. The Wolf And His Hero

**Warnings**: Violence, Bloody Scenes, sort of Pre-Slash (HPDM), Cursing

**Chapter 3: The Wolf And His Hero**

The last chapter of this story. I am tempted, though, to write a sequel, thus the rather open ending.

Enjoy, and thanks to my beta once more!

* * *

_There _has_ to be a spell or something to help us._

Draco frowned, soon pushing one of the useless books away.

_I mean, there were werewolf hunters even a few decades ago. They must have known something -_

"Can I help?"

Draco startled and spun around in his chair. He sent a dark scowl at Potter who was standing in the doorway, the blanket thrown over his bare shoulders. "What are you doing up, Potter? I specifically told you to rest."

"I'm not tired," Potter murmured and took a step inside the sitting room, looking around with curiosity. "This place looks nice."

Draco searched for any sign of ridicule, but found none. "While I appreciate your comment, I'm still against the idea of you being up and awake. You're still healing, might I remind you."

"But I'm feeling better," Potter insisted, walking closer, his steps a little wobbly. Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and got up, reaching out for Potter to pull him down onto another chair before the git could trip over.

"Really, I am," Potter said with an enthusiastic nod of his head.

Draco shot him a doubtful look and firmly tapped at one of the heavily bandaged areas. Potter yelped from pain, jolting up in his chair with such force he nearly toppled to the floor.

"Really," Draco drawled with a quirk of his eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest to emphasize his point.

Potter glared at him, clearly unimpressed. "I do feel better," he muttered in a surly tone, "when someone's not _poking_ at me."

"Don't be such a sissy, Potter," Draco said as haughtily as he could, and picked up a random book from the pile of volumes on the table. "Here. If you insist on being an imbecile, you might as well be of some assistance. See if there's anything about werewolves and fighting a whole pack of them."

Sending Draco another glare, Potter picked up the book and turned it over in his hands. Draco couldn't help but notice how clumsy the movements were when Potter used his previously broken hand, but he said nothing, merely turned his gaze away. He knew Potter desired none of his pity.

There were a few moments of silence as they both flicked through their books, before Potter nudged his away with a tired sigh. Draco looked up with raised eyebrows.

"I don't think there's anything we can find in books," Potter said with a shake of his head. "I think they would have taught us in Auror training if there's a spell or something to get away from a pack of werewolves."

Slowly, Draco closed his book. "What _do_ you know about defeating werewolves, then?"

Potter shrugged, his fingers trailing across the cover of the book in front of him. "Not enough to kill Greyback and save my partner, obviously," he murmured with bitterness in his voice. His lips were pinched. "I haven't encountered werewolves that much, actually. Most of our work involves just rounding up the last supporters of Voldemort and making sure the remaining Death Eaters won't rise again. Of course there are the normal homicide and thievery cases thrown into the mix, but not much magical creatures, no."

"Yes, I suppose most werewolves aren't that much of a trouble these days," Draco remarked musingly, then sneered purely out of habit. "Like Lupin, that little pet dog of yours. He's tame, isn't he?"

Potter scowled at him. "Stop talking about him like he's some _thing_. He's a human being and a wonderful person, might I add. Worth of millions of people like you."

"People like me?" Draco slammed down the book in his hands a little more forcefully than needed and the table rattled. "What, pray tell, do you mean by _people like me_?"

"I think you know," Potter said just as hotly, his arms defiantly crossed as he glared at Draco. "He may be different from the rest of us, but he doesn't hide in the shadows because of it. He knows what's right and what's not, and he works hard to make the world a better place. Unlike some egoistic people," Potter's upper lip curled just enough for Draco to grit his teeth together to keep himself from lunging at the other man, "who think only for themselves." Potter lifted his chin. "Silly, spoiled people who are too cowardly to make the right choices."

"Oh is that right?" Draco bared his teeth and got up, bubbling anger making his hands to clench into fists. "Well, at least I'm not a harebrained _fool_ who's stupid and reckless enough to let my partner get killed." He gave Potter a full-blown sneer, not able to control himself anymore. "Nothing new for you, is it, getting people killed?"

Potter's mouth opened to form a perfect 'o' of surprise at Draco's response, but he quickly recovered, something akin to guilt and rage making his eyes dark. "Look who's talking, Malfoy. Say, where are your mummy and daddy now? The last I heard, your mother couldn't handle the shame of your father getting himself a life-sentence in Azkaban and killed herself -"

Draco punched Potter before he could finish his sentence, red spots of ire dancing across his vision. "Don't you dare," he poisonously hissed as Potter toppled over and fell to the floor, a startled yelp escaping his lips, "speak about my parents. You know _nothing_."

Cradling his cheek with his hand, Potter spat out a splatter of blood and growled at Draco from the floor, his face twisted. "Yeah, funny how you used to think you knew all about my parents, with the way you badmouthed about them at school."

"School was _years_ ago, Potter," Draco hissed. "Do try to grow up some day. And what's more, my parents were there for me when I needed them." He was vaguely aware of the way things were spinning out of control, but he couldn't help it – it felt _good_ to be angry. "They weren't so gormless they decided to get blown up like your dear father and Mudblood of a mother."

Potter snarled, his teeth bloodied. "At least they loved me. What did you have? Some pathetic, grovelling snobs who'd rather take their own lives than see the disappointment of a son they produced -"

_That's it. __**That's it.**_

Something just _snapped _in Draco's head and he let out a strangled scream, swooping down on Potter. Before the other man could even try to defend himself, Draco had a relentless grip on him and started to bodily drag him towards the door.

"Malfoy – Malfoy, what are you – _Malfoy_!" Potter struggled in his hold, his breath coming in quick puffs again as the door came closer and closer. Blood was gushing through Draco's ears, so loud and overwhelming he barely heard Potter's wild protests.

_I've had **enough** of his stupidity._

"You said people like me can only think for ourselves!" Draco shouted and tightened his grip to keep Potter from slipping away. "So I guess I should just do what I'm supposed to and throw you out to the wolves! You're not _my_ problem, Potter!"

"_Malfoy_!" Potter's voice became higher and his struggles more enthusiastic when Draco reached out for the door handle. "Stop it – stop it, you can't just -"

"You can't tell me what I can do and what I can't – Potter, watch those teeth - "

Somehow, Potter managed to whirl around in Draco's hold and he knocked Draco's outstretched arm down, snapping his jaws threateningly. Instinctively, Draco backed away from the teeth of a werewolf and Potter pounced on him, knocking both of them to the floor where they landed in a tumble of flailing limbs.

"Ow, Potter – you _hooligan!_ -"

"You twit – stop pulling at my hand, ow ow ow, _Malfoy_!"

After a minute of pointless wrestling on the floor, Potter was the first to give up and Draco followed suit, panting for breath as if he had just ran a mile. He realized he was practically lying on top of Potter, but he couldn't care less at the moment.

"Well," Potter wheezed. "That was fun, huh?"

"Indeed," Draco got out, "very much fun." He paused. "And just for the record, I wouldn't really have thrown you out."

_At least I think._

"Yeah." Potter grimaced. "Ugh, I think some of my wounds ripped open again."

Draco used his arms to lift himself off of Potter, and glanced down. Sure enough, fresh blood stained both Potter's bare stomach and his own clothes, as well. "Oh for Merlin's sake, do you know how _hard_ it is to get blood off your clothes?"

Potter snorted and rolled to his side, groaning. "Hey, I didn't force you to grapple me and start a wrestling match, did I?"

"Pretty damn close," Draco muttered, ruefully looking at his ruined shirt. Potter snorted again, then sighed.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the stuff I said about -"

Draco lifted his hand sharply and narrowed his eyes at Potter, who promptly closed his mouth. "No apologizes, no excuses, no regrets, yes?" *

Potter sighed again. "Fine. But let's not do this any time soon again, okay? I think even my hair hurts now."

Muttering "pansy" under his breath, Draco grabbed Potter's hand and pulled the other man up to his feet. Potter swayed, blinking his eyes rapidly as if he were about to faint, and Draco quickly wrapped an arm around Potter's waist. "Come on, let's get you back to bed and I'll see to those opened wounds."

Potter murmured something Draco couldn't quite comprehend, but allowed Draco to lead him into the bedroom where he collapsed onto the bad with a relieved sigh. Wasting no time, Draco cleaned the wounds that demanded his attention and wrapped fresh bandages over them in swift, precise movements.

"You're really quite good at this," Potter remarked, his eyes tracking the way Draco moved his hands. "You ever thought of becoming a Healer?"

Draco snorted, rolling up the remaining bandages. "You must be joking, Potter. A Malfoy as a Healer? You think someone would actually be _willing_ to be my patient? Given, of course, that I would be let to enter the Healer training, which is just as likely as you bleaching your hair and taking up the career as a male stripper."

"You know, I always thought I _could_ use my body to bring in some extra Galleons." Potter cracked a small grin, then grew solemn again in a heartbeat at seeing Draco's not-amused expression. "Seriously, though, I'm sure you could try to apply to the Healer programme. There's a shortage of qualified Healers nowadays."

Draco sighed. "You just can't give up, can you, Potter?" He leaned closer to Potter, a hand on Potter's bare stomach. "While I appreciate the effort, you don't have to be such an optimist." Pulling back a little, Draco sneered. "And what I _don't_ appreciate is being made into a charity case, so don't even think about it."

Potter cocked his head like a curious dog, his forehead burrowing. "Then what _are_ you going to do once we get out? You can't stay _here, _can you?"

"None of your business, Potter." Draco scowled. "My life is mine to be spent. Oh, and thanks for reminding me that I most probably _can't_ stay here unless we wipe out all the werewolves in the bloody forest." Sighing again, Draco gathered all the empty vials and used bandages and banished them away. "Let's just focus on getting out of here, alright? I don't need you to worry about me, Potter, or feel sorry for me."

"It's a two-way street, you know," Potter said, instead of just agreeing like Draco had hoped he'd do. "You needn't worry about me – and don't give me that look, Malfoy. I may be scarred but I'm not blind. I don't want, nor need, your pity." He shrugged. "I'm a werewolf, yeah, but it's not the end of my life."

Draco looked at him shrewdly. "You can't honestly say you're not bothered by the fact that you're no longer a pure human, Potter. Not even you are so indifferent about your fate."

"Bothered, maybe, but being a werewolf doesn't mean that I should just drop dead because there's nothing to live for anymore." Lightly, Potter ran a hand over his bandaged stomach. "I just turn into a wolf once a month, that's it, or maybe things get even better if your potion really is that good as I think it is."

"You won't just "turn into a wolf", Potter, for Merlin's sake," Draco snapped, the feeling of disbelief at Potter's naivety making the praise on his potion go unnoticed by him. "People are afraid of werewolves, they are shunned from the wizarding community and treated as if they are bombs ready to go off in any given moment -"

"Like you?"

Draco blinked, losing the thread of his thoughts. "I – what?"

"That's why you're holed up here in your cottage, away from the world, isn't it? You think people will treat you as if you're a dangerous animal?"

Draco bared his teeth, a twinge of annoyance making his head hurt. "You suppose everyone would welcome me back with open arms and throw the red carpet in front of me? I can't believe how naïve you are, Potter, it's quite horrible to listen."

Potter scoffed. "I am not naïve, Malfoy. I'm merely optimistic. And _yes_, I know you'd have a hard time with most of the people, but not everyone. All you need, Malfoy, is time. Time to show those ignorant unbelievers that not all Malfoys are evil to the core."

_He's making it sound so easy._ Draco sighed. "Whatever, Potter. I just don't have the energy to fight right now."

"You'll see, Malfoy. You'll see."

"What _you'll _see soon if you won't shut up now, is the outside of that door."

* * *

The next few days of the siege passed by quietly. Potter continued to heal and gain more strength to the point Draco couldn't order him to stay in bed all day long anymore with the excuse of Potter's weak condition. So Potter kept pestering him, trailing after the blonde and insisting he wanted to be of assistance somehow. Draco was sorely tempted to tell Potter that he if he really wanted to help, he could just walk out the door. In the end, though, Draco just shoved a stack of books to Potter and told him to do some research.

Not that it would do any good, since Draco had already gone through all of his books and ancient tomes, but it kept Potter from being tangled in Draco's feet as Draco did research of his own in his lab. Potter, however, had many means of being a pain in Draco's arse.

"Oy, Malfoy? Can I make us dinner?"

Draco snorted, calling over his shoulder, "What are you, Potter, my house elf?"

"No. I'm just a hungry wolf locked into a same cottage with you."

_Witty_.

Placing a tray of experimental potions onto a table, Draco set a stasis charm over the vials to keep them safe. He didn't bother with a loud voice since he knew Potter would hear him anyway with his wolfish senses. "I'll come out in a minute, I don't want you to destroy my kitchen."

He could almost _hear_ Potter rolling his eyes, and smirked at the sullen "fine" that came through the closed door. Slipping out of his lab, Draco came to find Potter sprawled onto the couch that now occupied the sitting room since he had also insisted that Draco should have his bedroom back and that he could sleep in the sitting room. Draco had had no qualms agreeing with him.

"Stop sulking," he snapped at Potter as he whirled past, flicking his wand to open the cabinets and closets in the kitchen area. "It's unbecoming."

"I'm not sulking," Potter muttered, following Draco with his eyes.

"Then get up and help me, you ungrateful sod." Draco levitated a bowl onto the table. "I'm not your servant you can order to cook for you at any given time."

Potter's upper lip curled in distaste and Draco got a flash of his white teeth, but he got to his feet nevertheless. "I offered to cook just a second ago, you know. I could have made something all by myself."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "And I should have just let you demolish my only kitchen? Are you daft?"

"I'll have you know that I am an excellent cook," Potter said haughtily as he padded closer, peering into the closets. "So, what are you making today? Not that horrible rabbit with carrots again, I hope."

There was a loud bang as Draco closed a cabinet door before Potter could pull anything out. "Just for your information, there is some shortage of ingredients since I am not able to shop at the moment. So keep your ruddy complaints to yourself."

Potter raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Forget what I said." He peeked a quick look over Draco's shoulder. "But what _are_ you making?"

"I found some lamb from my storage of meat," Draco informed Potter while swatting the said man away. "So I'm making lamb stew." He dumped a bucket onto Potter's hands. "Here, peel these potatoes. There's a knife somewhere in that closet. Do be careful with your bad hand."

It was strange, Draco idly thought, as he watched Potter settle down on a chair and start peeling the potatoes, how well they acted together now. It was as if they had fallen into a comfortable routine of sorts. Sure, there was banter and scowling and sniping, but neither of their hearts were in it. They were doing it just for the fun of it and because they were used to it.

_Better this way, though. It would be quite uncomfortable if we were constantly at each other's throats_.

Once the humble but tasty stew of lamb was done, Draco and Potter ate their dinner in comfortable silence. Draco was certain Potter yearned his meat to be rawer, but to his credit, Potter never said a thing, merely ate his food with one hand just as neatly and calmly as Draco did. _He really has good control over his inner wolf,_ Draco was forced to admit. _Not everybody could do it._

After the meal, Draco did his daily check-up on Potter. To both his and Potter's satisfaction all the wounds and scratches had closed up and Potter's torso was now littered with webs of thick scars. The most visible scars of course were the ones across Potter's face, but luckily, they had thinned out into shimmering, silvery lines instead of raised bridges Draco had feared.

"Let me see that hand," Draco commanded and Potter obediently held out his injured hand for Draco to carefully inspect. "Have you been exercising it the way I advised?"

"Yeah. I think it's improved a bit."

"Is that so?" Draco stroked the lax fingers, feeling for the joints. "Make a fist for me, if you please."

With a sharp eye, he watched as Potter slowly curled his fingers to form a loose fist. "That's good. Now, grab this."

His face scrunched up in concentration, Potter reached out for the spoon Draco was offering. After a short moment, he was clumsily holding the spoon with a look of victory on his face.

"Well, you _are_ improving," Draco allowed as he took the spoon back. "Would you like to try my wand to see if you can perform magic just as well as you used to?"

Looking startled, Potter blinked. "You'd let me use your wand?"

"I don't think you'd use it to stun me and run, after all," Draco remarked dryly, drawing his wand and holding it out for Potter. "Here."

His hand slightly trembling now, Potter awkwardly took the wand.

"Try something simple for now," Draco advised, and Potter nodded.

"_Lumos_," he whispered and a look of awe spread all over his face as the familiar light lit the tip of Draco's wand. The light wavered a little, but then it steadied.

"Excellent," Draco stated with a curt nod of his head. "It seems that the injury has not influenced your flow of magic."

After trying a few more spells that all were successful though a bit weak, Potter returned the wand with a beaming smile on his lips. "Thanks, Malfoy. For a while, I've thought that I could never hold a wand anymore."

"Once your hand's motoric skills get better, your magic will most probably return to its usual strength," Draco said briskly, pocketing his wand. For some reason, he felt slightly uncomfortable when Potter was smiling at him like that – thankful, happy and pleased. It made Potter's face open up like a child's.

With one last smile, Potter bounded over to his pile of books and enthusiastically started to leaf through them. Draco didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no help in those books.

* * *

"Do you think they're ever going to give up?"

Draco glanced up from his book of potential potions. Potter was standing beside a window that was charmed to reveal what was outside but no-one from the outside could see in, silently watching. Draco knew what he was watching; the wolves, still prowling around the house with the patience of a house elf.

"No," Draco said shortly. "They are not. They know their prey is here, they won't just give it up without a fight." He closed his book, absent-mindedly stroking the leather cover. "Maybe they don't know I have Wolfsbane and they're just waiting for the first moon, expecting you to go nuts and slash me up."

Potter gave a light shudder, still glued to the window. His eyes were hunted and his face shadowed. "The full moon is soon, isn't it?"

"Next week. But you don't have to worry about it, I have a full stock of Wolfsbane."

"Yeah," Potter said, his expression never changing. "Are you certain your formula will not change me?"

"I can't be absolutely sure, but it is very likely, yes. Just to be sure, though, I thought it would be good for you to take the potion only minutes before changing – that's how it worked the last time you were about to change."

"That sounds good," Potter nodded.

* * *

"Why are you questioning the strength of my wards?" Draco icily asked, his arms crossed. Potter had just dared to ask how strongly the door was warded against attacks, as if Draco didn't know how to make perfectly impregnable wards.

Potter shrugged. "Just curious. So you could actually open the door from the inside?"

Draco rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Of course, Potter, but that's hardly a bad thing, is it? It's not like there are hostile werewolves in here, you mongrel."

"Don't get all snippy, Malfoy," Potter huffed. "There's no harm in asking."

He closed the book he had been reading and stretched on the couch, a grimace on his face as his joints and muscles flexed. Draco glanced at the title of the book, inquisitive to see what had kept Potter so occupied for the day. _The mechanics of a werewolf pack,_ claimed the glossy letters on the cover, and Draco frowned.

_Why on earth is he reading that?_

He shrugged to himself, returning back to his own book.

P_erhaps he's just curious about his own species. _

* * *

Ignoring the swiftly moving shadows in the forest around the cottage, Draco looked up at the dark sky. "The moon will rise in a few minutes."

Potter, standing near, nodded. For once, his face was closed up and Draco couldn't see what the other man was thinking. Potter had been acting weird the last few days, asking silly questions and being lost in his own thoughts for most of the days, but Draco reckoned Potter was merely becoming nervous as the full moon neared on.

"You feeling alright?" Draco questioned, watching Potter keenly. He couldn't help but feel somewhat apprehensive – for both his and Potter's safety. For all he knew, despite the rigorous research and testing his experimental Wolfsbane was just a fluke and wouldn't work. In worst cases, the potion could end up either killing Potter or rendering him helpless against the bloodthirsty wolf inside him. That, naturally, couldn't end up well with Draco either.

"I'm fine," Potter said, his voice steady and quiet. There was no sign of merriness in his dark eyes, and Draco found himself liking the joking and carefree Potter better. "Can I have the potion?"

With a final look outside, Draco nodded and handed over the vial. Inside his pocket, he kept a fierce grip on his wand. They had agreed that at the first sign of trouble, Draco would barricade himself into his bedroom, but Draco didn't feel comfortable leaving Potter alone in any case.

Potter began to tremble, shivers running up and down his body. Draco took an involuntary step back. "Take the potion now, Potter."

The green in Potter's eyes faded away and they became a deep golden colour. A pained expression flashed across his face as the trembling worsened. "_Potter_?"

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Potter whispered harshly, his voice thick and gruff. He then threw the vial of Wolfsbane on the floor where it smashed into thousands of glittering pieces of glass.

"Potter!" Draco gasped in utter shock. "What are you -"

"'M sorry," Potter repeated again, sounding like as if he had to force the words out of his throat. There was a loud ripping sound and he howled, a sound so full of pain Draco felt the hair at the back of his neck rise.

_What in the Merlin's name -_

Draco whipped out his wand and started towards his lab, his heart beating painfully fast in his chest. But Potter let out a gurgled growl and pounced, quick as a lightning, and Draco landed on the floor with a half-turned wolf pinning him down. Draco felt hot breath on his neck and tensed, his eyes rolling in his head from terror as he tried to twist away -

"This is the only way," Potter said then, his voice a mess of snarling and growling noises, and Draco froze. "I have to challenge the pack leader – this is the only way, Malfoy."

Realization dawned on Draco, then, clear and horrifying. "No! Potter - " He made a grab at Potter, but Potter jerked away, howling again in pain. Draco scrambled to his feet as the last traces of human disappeared before his eyes and in Potter's place, there stood a large, black wolf with golden eyes and a snarling mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

"Potter... " Draco whispered. The wolf barked once, its ears flattened against its skull, and whirled around to face the door. "No, Potter, no!"

But Potter paid no attention to him and rammed its massive body against the door that wailed under the sudden attack and slammed open. Then the black wolf was gone in a flash, vanishing into the darkening night without a trace.

"Merlin damn you, Potter!" Draco hollered after the wolf, tempted to sprang after Potter as he stood in the doorway.

_The fool! He can't beat _Greyback_!_

A chorus of howls made Draco hastily retreat back inside the cottage and he charmed the door closed again. "If you do survive this, Potter, I'm going to kill you myself," he muttered to himself, rushing to the nearest window. It took some squinting and a light night vision spell for his eyes, but he finally could see Potter standing in the woods, surrounded by a dozen or so other wolves.

_This does _not_ look good._

The other wolves, some larger that Potter, snarled at him, their yellowed eyes flashing in the dark. Potter didn't seem intimidated by their threatening behaviour; he just bared his teeth and kept spinning around in place to keep his backside safe. Draco cancelled the spell that kept any sounds outside from penetrating the walls of the cottage, and instantly, the howls and growls filled the air.

Then a wolf from the circle, a muddy brown one, made an unexpected lunge forwards and sank its teeth into Potter's side. Potter let out a surprised yelp and whirled around to face the attacker. A rough wrestling match ensued, during which Draco had difficulties to see who was winning – the other wolves blocked his view as they pranced about, howling -

A deep, commanding bark, so loud Draco himself startled, cut into the fight and the wolf that had attacked Potter quickly scurried away with its tail tucked underneath its legs. Potter panted, a few drops of blood on his snout, but he didn't look badly injured as he let out a fearsome snarl, staring at somewhere in the dark woods. The sea of wolves obediently parted as the largest of them stepped forward, a bulky wolf nearly the size of a bull with a thick, grey coat of fur.

_Greyback_.

Draco tensed, taking a step towards the door, but as if having sensed Draco's thoughts, some of the wolves moved to guard the door. They grinned in their wolfish manner, malicious and bloodthirsty, and Draco swallowed, returning his gaze back to Potter.

Potter and Greyback circled each other slowly, measuring and assessing the other. Potter was moving cautiously, every step of his paw calm and collected, like this wasn't the first time he had been turned into a wolf. Greyback's movements, on the other hand, were menacing and meant to intimidate. They grey wolf was constantly snarling, its eyes locked with Potter's, and its whole demeanour screamed danger.

But Potter wasn't backing down. He was growling, a low sound that barely reached Draco's ears through the window, and every muscle in his body was tensed as he kept moving, smoothly and carefully. The rest of the wolves hung back in the shadows, clearly ordered not to intervene in any way.

Then, Potter halted and took a purposeful step towards Greyback, hackles raised. It was clearly meant as a challenge – Greyback snarled and pawed at the ground, his tail held rigidly. Potter replied with a growl, curling his upper lip to show off his fangs. He far from rolling over and surrendering.

"Oh this isn't good, not at all," Draco muttered darkly, pressing his face against the cool window. "Potter, you're a moron."

Both wolves were still for a split second before springing to action with speed and viciousness only werewolves can achieve. Draco winced as Potter and Greyback slammed against each other, all sharp teeth and tearing claws. Greyback got the upper hand immediately and his jaws closed around Potter's throat, squeezing down until Potter, trashing madly, managed to slash at Greyback's vulnerable head with his claws. The bigger wolf let loose and shook its now bleeding head, snarling.

Potter barked roughly, blood smearing his fur, and crouched for a short moment before leaping in an attempt to tackle Greyback down. But showing off his brutal strengths, Greyback grabbed Potter by the neck and threw him in the air as if Potter was a mere toy to play with. It was obvious that due to his slightly smaller frame, Potter was faster and more agile, but Greyback had the strength of a grizzly bear and years of experience in bloodshed behind him.

_Come on, Potter. You're Gryffindor, a fighter! Come on!_

As if having heard Draco's chant, Potter rose again and shook himself, a snarl ready on his lips as he charged again. This time, he was more careful and practically danced around Greyback, nibbing at him here and there before jumping away from the lethal path of Greyback's teeth. Greyback became quickly annoyed and growled, swiping at Potter with one of his massive paws. Potter attempted to duck, but the claws still cut into his shoulder and the black wolf yelped, rolling away.

Greyback howled, a shrill sound that made shivers run up and down Draco's spine. Potter barked again, short barks that sounded almost jeering, and Greyback's head lowered as he snarled. The two wolves jumped at each other again and the earth itself seemed to tremble as Greyback tumbled down with Potter persistently at his neck, his snout buried into the grey fur and his ears flattened.

There was a flurry of movement and Greyback managed to shook Potter off, but not before Potter had taken a half of his ear with him. Greyback howled again, though this time from pain, and for the first time since the fight had started, Draco began to wonder if Potter really did have a chance of winning.

They were circling each other again, the two wolves growling low in their throats as they held their bodies rigidly, coiled and ready to attack at any time. Once in a while, one of them took a quick bite or a swipe of a paw at the other before resuming to circle. Draco noticed that the prolonged battle had started to take its toll on Greyback, who was panting and definitely moving slower than Potter.

_Smart, Potter, smart. Wear the stronger opponent out. _Draco hummed._ Quite Slytherin._

But Potter wasn't in excellent condition, either. He was limping and his coat was damp and dingy from blood and dirt, and Draco detected he favoured his other side. His gaze, however, was as fierce as ever and he could still move well enough to avoid most of Greyback's ominous attacks.

_Come on, Potter... _

Greyback lunged then, bringing Potter down with his superior weight and they violently rolled on the ground. Dirt was flying everywhere as the two wolves were locked in their deathly embrace, and the majority of the wolf pack scampered farther away to avoid being flattened by the pair of fighters. There was blood and glistering teeth everywhere, nails ripping flesh apart, and Draco held his breath, straining his eyes to see better.

A high-pitched yelp and Potter was suddenly lying on the ground on his back, his twitching legs going limp as Greyback, biting down on Potter's throat, shook his head as if to separate muscle from bone. It felt like something icy was slithering down Draco's back, something horrifyingly cold and freezing that made his heart skip several beats.

"No!" he shouted to no-one particular and without thinking, dashed to the door and slammed it open. "_No_!"

The wolves just outside the door were seriously startled, nearly jumping out of their skins, but they recovered quickly and bared their teeth at Draco. But Draco didn't see them, he only saw Potter motionless on the ground and Greyback on top of him. The grey wolf let go of Potter's mangled throat and twisted around at Draco's sudden appearance, letting loose a horrendous snarl.

Something moved just beneath Greyback, a flash of movement, and Draco had only a blink of an eyes to realize that Potter wasn't dead yet – he had been just abiding his time, waiting for the right moment. The right moment to rear up, quick as lightning, and grab Greyback's neck between his jaws. A vehement twist of Potter's head and Greyback fell, slumping to the ground with a heavy, final _thud_.

Draco blinked.

All the wolves seemed to freeze as utter silence filled the forest.

Then Potter struggled up, blood smearing every inch of him, and barked. Sharp, loud and commanding. The wolves, looking bewildered, glanced at each other uncertainly. Their body language had changed drastically – they had their ears flattened and their tails down as they crouched on the ground. Potter howled, staring down each and every one of the wolves.

Draco stared at the submitting wolves, stunned. _I can't believe it._

Potter howled again, and this time, the rest of the pack joined him in the eery choir.

_They have a new alpha wolf._

The wolves yapped, licking their lips as a sign of submission, and Potter's one last bark sent them scurrying away into the shadows.

_Dear Merlin. Potter did it. He really did it._

And then Draco realized he was alone with a werewolf.

"Potter?" he tentatively tried, ready to back inside his cottage. "Can you hear me?"

The black wolf was panting and Draco noticed how badly Potter's feet were shaking, as if he had enormous troubles even standing up. "Potter?"

Blood dripped down to the ground as Potter took a shaky step towards before his paws gave away and he collapsed. Panting and whining quietly, he lay there in the grass, eyes half-closed.

_Oh, bugger._

"I'm coming to help you, Potter, so don't you try anything," Draco warned, cautiously stepping closer. Potter just yapped softly, so Draco crouched down slowly, trailing his fingers in the fur that was damp and coarse with blood. "Oh what a mess you are, Potter."

Potter whined, lifting his head weakly to lick at Draco's hand.

"Let this be the last time I save your hairy arse, though," Draco murmured, carefully petting at the top of Potter's head. "This can't become a habit of yours."

And the moon was bright in the sky as Draco began to heal Potter once more.

The wolf and his hero.

* * *

* "No apologizes, no excuses, no regrets" – The Queer as Folk


End file.
